


The Dragon of Avernus Manor

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Book Elements, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Dragon Crowley, Gabriel is a dick, Good Omens Kink Meme, Greenhouses, Libraries, M/M, No Animal Death, Nonbinary angels, Nonbinary demons, Roses, Show Elements, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), animal injury, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-13 15:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: a very Good Omens retelling of Beauty and the Beast
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Kink Meme [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535939
Comments: 45
Kudos: 185
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [Good Omens Kink Meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth, prompt: [a Beauty and the Beast retelling with Crowley as the Beast](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=990312#cmt990312)
> 
> speed-betaed by pigsflew

Gabriel Fell was not a careful man. He was not careful with his belongings, since he could easily afford to replace them. He certainly wasn’t careful with other people’s feelings, since he had learned a long time ago that money could soothe all but the most ruffled of feathers. He wasn’t even careful with members of his own family; as the one who held the purse strings, he had near-complete control over all their lives.

It was that very lack of care that led to him becoming very lost on a trip through the Forest of Limbo, while on his way home to the town of Angel’s Haven after a business trip. A sign post had blown down, and Gabriel discovered far too late that his map was water-damaged, so he was left at a crossroads with no idea where to go, in the middle of a dark forest, with snow starting to fall quite heavily. He sighed, failed to remember the correct direction, and took a completely wrong turn.

The path became darker and narrower as he continued along it on his horse, and the snow began to fall more quickly, building up to blizzard proportions even despite the thick tree cover. Gabriel pressed forward, never one to look back, until he reached a massive wrought-iron gate, set in a tall stone wall. The gate was open ever-so-slightly, so Gabriel carefully dismounted and shoved it open enough to lead his horse through and shut it behind him.

The grounds on the inside of the gate were pristine, a thick covering of snow blanketing everything in white. Gabriel continued forward, and all at once a tremendous house appeared, as if a curtain had been pulled aside to reveal it. The manor was dark at first glance, but somehow the roundabout in front of the house was completely clean of snow, as well as a path along one side of the house. Hoping that it would lead to the stables, Gabriel followed it, and as he rounded the corner of the facade he was rewarded: a fully enclosed covered stable, again with the door hanging slightly ajar.

Dim electric lights lit the building’s interior, which was completely empty of horses, but there was a massive barrel of clean-smelling water and plenty of fresh horse feed stored inside. Gabriel led his horse to a stall, brought it food and water, and was even able to find a thick, clean stable blanket to wrap over the poor creature after he took off its saddle and panniers. After settling the horse, Gabriel turned back to the house. A side entrance was visible across a small courtyard from the stable, but had its door been open like this before? Gabriel hurried through the blizzard and into the grand house, unsure what he would find inside.

The corridor he found himself in was similarly lit with low electric lights, and appeared to be a servant’s passage. There was an open door up ahead, so he headed toward it, hoping to find his would-be hosts, or at least something to eat.

The door opened onto a massive dining room, lit by a roaring fireplace. The long table was covered with food, from roasted meats to vegetables impossible to find in the dead of winter to delicate desserts. Gabriel looked around, but there was no one present, so he helped himself, grabbing a gold-edged black plate and piling it high with food.

He dragged one of the elegant but spindly chairs over to the fire and ate there, letting his body warm and his clothes dry. After an excellent, filling meal, he left his dishes on an empty corner of the table and went out the main door of the dining room and into the grand hall, before picking a direction and going exploring. More dim electric lights, room after well-appointed room, and though he called out every so often, there was no evidence of any human habitation.

After wandering for a good half an hour, he opened a massive metal door adorned with vines and flowers and stepped into a massive greenhouse, filled with trees and flowering plants of all kinds. It was dark and warm despite the cold weather, and smelled strongly of good growing things. Gabriel wandered through the place, staring in awe at the verdant leaves and colorful blooms. He found a shrub of dark red, almost black cabbage roses and broke off a blossom.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice boomed through the space, and Gabriel jumped, dropping the rose into the dirt. “You come into my home, eat at my table, and now abussse my hossspitality by damaging my rosssesss?” The hiss in the voice was almost inhuman, more like a snake than a man, and Gabriel spun around, to where a hulking shadow stood half-hidden by a stand of potted orange trees. “I ssshould kill you for your insssolenccce.”

“I’m sorry!” Gabriel cried, cowering against the planter. “I meant no disrespect.” The shadow shifted toward him menacingly. “I...I can pay you, for your trouble,” he tried, reaching for the full coin purse at his waist.

The shadow made a low rumbling sound that might have been laughter. “I have no need for your money. Those rosssesss are the prizzzesss of my collection.”

Gabriel racked his brain to think of something else of value he had to offer. He was not used to being faced with a problem that money couldn’t solve. “My brother!” he said finally, pushing himself up to stand up straight. “He’s bookish and a little strange, but he would make a good record keeper or archivist, or a conversation partner.”

The shadow shifted, but did not speak.

“Very well, then I will leave and send him to come to you,” Gabriel said, half frantic now that he felt he was close to free.

The shadow grunted, and tossed an object toward Gabriel, which he caught with a deft hand. It was a compass, with a brass case and silvery needle. “Thisss will lead you,” came the voice. “Get out of my houssse.” Gabriel bowed, a scared but elegant gesture, and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale arrives at the manor and meets his "host".

The snow had slowed to a light dusting, so Gabriel rode out quite easily, the strange compass clenched in his fist. Following its needle, he made excellent time through the forest and back to Angel's Haven, where the Fell house stood proudly in the center of town. He threw the reins of the exhausted horse to the stableboy and hurried inside, surprised but pleased to see that all of his younger siblings were in attendance.

"Brother, you are late," Michael said, when Gabriel burst into the drawing room. She was seated on a reclining couch by one of the windows. Uriel was seated at the room's harpsichord, but wasn't playing. Sandalphon, the youngest, was pacing the room, as was his wont since he'd joined the military some years before. And bookish Aziraphale was, as usual, tucked into a corner with a book.  _ Perfect _ , Gabriel thought,  _ I won't have to explain this more than once _ .

"I got lost in the woods," Gabriel admitted, seating himself in an empty chair. The fact that was as far from Aziraphale as possible was merely coincidence. "I came upon a strange manor there, which appears to be the property of a monster."

"There's no such thing," Sandalphon said with a laugh.

"Actually," Aziraphale said, not looking up from his book, "there are quite a number of stories about strange goings-on in the Avernus Woods."

"Superstitious twaddle," Sandalphon said, and Uriel nodded in agreement. Michael, on the other hand, looked pensive.

"How did you escape this monster?" she asked.

"I made an arrangement with it," Gabriel said. "I'm going to send it Aziraphale."

"What?" Aziraphale looked up from his book in surprise. "I'm not a piece of property you can trade at your convenience."

"That's how he's always treated us," Michael pointed out mildly.

"This isn't like insisting you get married," Aziraphale countered. "This is tantamount to slavery!"

Gabriel shook his head. "I have never made any demands of you," he said, though Aziraphale's expression clearly indicated he begged to differ. "I have let you stay in this house and focus on your studies, rather than some form of gainful employment. I did not require you to marry. I am asking this one thing of you, brother."

"Did you put some sort of time limit on this ‘arrangement’?"

"You can come to terms about that when you arrive," Gabriel hedged. "You will set out at once. This will lead you there," he added, holding up the compass.

Aziraphale stood, book clenched tightly in his hand. He looked around at his other siblings, none of whom looking willing to defend him, so he hurried across the room and grabbed the compass from Gabriel's hand. "I suppose I'll go pack."

***

Aziraphale looked around his room in dismay. What did one bring with them when they have been traded like chattel to a monster? Aziraphale figured the likelihood was that he wouldn’t be eaten or otherwise killed upon arrival, so he was trying to plan ahead. He had managed to narrow down his many favorite books to just three to bring with him, and they were carefully tucked into one of the panniers with some clothes to pad them out. The second pannier also contained clothes, which in turn protected a small glass trinket, a clear ball with a golden feather inside, a gift from his mother many years ago, before she passed on.

His room was full of  _ things _ , but he honestly couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to bring with him.

His brooding was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. “Come in,” he called, wondering who it might be. He knew he was not well-liked by his siblings; he was honestly unsure if any of them would even see him off when he left.

“I wanted to give you this,” Michael said as she stepped inside. She handed him something wrapped in cloth.

Aziraphale flipped back the fabric to reveal a dirk, largely unadorned but for the smokey quartz in its pommel, the blade almost as long as his forearm. The sheath was similarly undecorated leather, plain but for the wings of their mother's crest tooled into it, with a loop to hang it from a belt. Aziraphale glanced up at his sister, whose face was unreadable.

"It was Mother's," Michael said, unnecessarily. "She wouldn't...well, she'd want you to be able to protect yourself."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said sincerely, rewrapping the blade and tucking it into his saddlebag. "Don't worry about me, sister, I'm sure I'll be fine."

Michael quirked an eyebrow at him and turned away, sweeping down the hall and out of sight. Aziraphale's false smile slid off his face. He certainly was not as confident as he'd pretended for his sister.

He took one last long, hard look around the room and then closed his panniers decisively, hefting them over his shoulder and leaving the only home he'd ever known.

***

As he’d expected, none of Aziraphale’s siblings came down to see him off, so he loaded his saddlebags onto his favorite horse and pointed her toward the forest, matching the direction of the compass’s steady needle. He did want he could to remain calm, but unpleasant scenarios chased each other around his head while he rode.

The weather was clear and cold, but it became darker as he passed into the trees, the tall trunks and branches blocking out the weak winter sun. He could easily see how Gabriel would have gotten lost in the previous night’s storm, even if he didn’t agree with the decisions his brother had made after.

He made his way to the blown-down signpost and then turned, following the compass onto progressively less maintained paths until he reached the wrought iron gate, propped open enough to let in a single horse and rider. Aziraphale rode through, and was not entirely surprised to hear the gate clang shut behind him.

The grounds were covered in a thick, undisturbed layer of white; not even bird or animal tracks marred the surface. The path, however, was clear, and Aziraphale continued along it until the manor came into view, looking mournful and empty even in the sunlight that was able to reach it. He crossed the cleared roundabout and followed the path leading along the side of the house, settling the horse in the stable. He removed his panniers and entered the house, cautiously traversing the servant’s passage on hesitant feet.

The dining room, when he reached it, was lit once again by a roaring fire, the table again piled high with food. Aziraphale considered it, but shook his head. He wasn’t going to repeat Gabriel’s mistakes. “Hello?” he called, voice echoing around the large space.

“You came,” said a voice from near the fire, and Aziraphale jumped. Looking closer, he realized that what he’d taken for shadows thrown by the fire was actually a figure half-crouched beside it, draped in a heavy dark cloak that obscured its features but could not disguise its massive size.

“My brother made a promise,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep the waver from his voice and mostly succeeding. “So here I am.”

“You are not a prisssoner here,” the figure hissed. “Consssider yourssself a guessst. You have free rein of the houssse and the groundsss, though I would thank you not to enter the greenhoussse or the roomsss beyond it. Thisss room will alwaysss contain food and drink.” A huge clawed hand appeared from beneath the cloak, open, with a glowing light in the palm. “Thisss will ssshow you to your roomsss.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Aziraphale said carefully, and the figure shifted away, the hand disappearing back under the cloak, while the light floated over to Aziraphale. “My name is Aziraphale. What’s yours?”

The figure grunted, and for a moment Aziraphale worried that he’d somehow misstepped. “You may call me Crawley,” it said finally, before sweeping to a side door and leaving.

“Didn’t even say goodbye,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Crawley’s not one for mannerzzz,” said a voice, and Aziraphale spun around. “I’m the light, you dolt.” He turned to look at the light, which bounced and spun, a small glowing orb radiating light that still somehow felt dark. “Do you want food, or zzzhould I zzzhow you your roomzzz?”

“Rooms, please,” Aziraphale said, wondering at the light. Truly, it was some sort of magic spirit or ghost, and it was fascinating. “I don’t think I’m hungry right now.”

“The food’zzz enchanted,” the light said. “It changezzz frequently, but there’zzz alwayzzz zzzomething here. Ready?” And without waiting for a reply, it zipped to the main door to the dining room and out in the hall.

Aziraphale followed the light through the winding corridors of the massive house. It would hurry ahead and wait for him to catch up, and there was obvious impatience in the way it bounced each time it stopped. Soon enough, they stopped in front of a door, this one decorated with carved jasmine blossoms. Aziraphale pushed the door open and stepped inside, stopping and looking around in awe.

The Fell family had been wealthy since long before Aziraphale was born, and he had been raised in that wealth, but these rooms put his space in the family estate to shame. The entry room was clearly designed for entertaining, which a large fireplace already set with a fire and comfortable-looking couches and chairs scattered about. The large windows looked out on the pristine grounds and the woods beyond, with heavy brocade curtains to block out the light, if desired. A couple doors lead off to who knew where on each side.

“Juzzzt call for me or one of the otherzzz if you need anything,” the light was saying, and Aziraphale turned his attention back to it.

“What do I call you?” he asked curiously, and the light swirled in a figure eight.

“Beezzzle,” it said. “Dagon is usually outzzzide, zzzo you won’t get a rezzzponzzze from her inzzzide the houzzze. Hazzztur and Ligur are uzzzually around, but they like lurking in zzzhadowy cornerzzz. Anything elzzze?”

“No, this is lovely, thank you, Beezle,” Aziraphale said. “Please feel free to go about your day.” Beezle huffed, but darted out into the hall, and Aziraphale closed the door behind them. Then he placed his saddlebags on a convenient couch and went exploring.

The door on the left side of the room led to a study, with a large, ornate desk again looking out onto the grounds, and a few bookshelves full of tomes. Aziraphale looked over the books curiously. Many of them were classic works he was familiar with, as well as plenty he was not, but he realized there was nothing that had been written in his lifetime. Considering the manor’s isolation, and that neither he -- a scholar -- not his brother -- a well-travelled businessman -- knew of it, that was not surprising.

The other door off the sitting room led to a bedroom, with a canopy bed and chest of drawers, additional doors leading off to a dressing room and a water closet with real running water and a large claw-footed bathtub. The closet was full of somewhat old-fashioned suits of clothes, and Aziraphale realized by looking at them that they would probably fit him quite well. The magic of this place was tremendous.

Aziraphale unpacked his saddlebags, leaving the books on the bedside table along with the feather in its glass ball and tucking the dirk under the pillow. He looked around with some small measure of satisfaction -- while the situation was far from ideal, it was much better than the most disaster scenarios that had run through his mind -- and went to draw himself a bath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets antsy from getting stuck inside, and makes a terrible mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: an animal is injured in this chapter, but everything is going to be ok, I promise

Aziraphale quickly fell into a pattern as the days went on, the occasional monotony of reading broken up by eating his meals in the big dining room alone. The selection of books in his room was eclectic but engaging, and Aziraphale was mostly content to read in his room or one of the many empty parlors and sitting rooms in the huge manor.

Not normally one for outdoor activities, he still took to taking the horse out for a ride each morning after breakfast, for the semblance of freedom it gave him. The horse, an old grey mare named Agnes, was not one for athletics either, so Aziraphale was happy to stay at a sedate trot while exploring the grounds. The glowing light called Dagon was kind enough to show him where the boundaries of the property were, and he kept the compass with him in case he got lost in the trees; after the first week or so, he even started to map out the features of the property, including the mostly frozen lake near the back and the gazebo in a copse of frozen silver birch trees.

He also began making a map of the house, at least the parts to which he was allowed access. Room after room he drew, with elegant furniture and lovely art and not a spot of dust despite the obvious sense of disuse about the house. Some of the bedrooms had more personality to their decorating, so Aziraphale left them alone, wondering if they had belonged to Beezle and the others before they had been transformed.

Because the inhabitants of the house had been transformed, Aziraphale discovered, after many days spent coaxing information out of the others. It was Ligur who finally gave him the most useful information: Crawley had been the master of the house, and the other four courtiers of some kind, and when Crawley had been enchanted -- for reasons Ligur flatly refused to say -- the others had been as well.

“Can the curse be broken?” Aziraphale had asked. He’d barely seen the master of the house since his arrival, but for the occasional hulking dark shadow he sometimes saw disappear down a corridor or watching him from a window when he went riding. When asked, Ligur had bounced with some unreadable emotion and darted off, leaving Aziraphale with even more questions than he’d had when he’d started.

Aziraphale’s exploration had led him to the greenhouse more than once, but he quickly learned to recognize the wrought metal door and would turn back when he reached it. He knew from his explorations outside the house that another small wing existed on the other side of the glass structure, but his curiosity in no way outweighed his desire not to anger his unlikely host.

***

One day, deep in the worst of winter, Aziraphale’s usual morning ride was delayed due to a snowstorm. He paced somewhat restlessly through the house, the small change to the schedule he’d been keeping distressing him more than he’d expected. It was odd. For all the years he’d lived in the Fell family home as an adult, having the choice to do almost anything he’d like, he’d often spent his days content to read in his room, the only acceptable interruptions when someone brought him food or when he could no longer put off sleep. But now that his whole world was reduced to this great house and its grounds, the inability to go outside was torturous.

He eventually settled in one of the grand parlors with windows on three sides, so he could watch the snow falling around him and pretend he was outside. He had a book with him, but he didn’t open it, instead allowing the falling snow and light wind lull him into an almost trance-like state.

When the snow finally stopped, it was still light out, so he hurried to dress in warm clothes and take Agnes out, not wanting to miss the chance to spend at least a little time outside. In his haste, he forgot to grab either compass or map before all but running to the stable. He rode out at a faster clip than usual, not noticing the already darkening sky.

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale realized his mistake. The sun was setting quickly, and the dim lights of the house were not visible through the trees. The snow had begun falling again, which combined with the disappearing light served to obscure Agnes’s trail quite thoroughly. “Dagon?” he called, but the light didn’t answer, so he turned the horse around, and tried to retrace their path.

It quickly became clear he had directed them wrongly when the trees opened up again, not onto the manor itself but rather onto a clearing that Aziraphale recognized to contain the lake. From here he thought he could find his way, but it meant rounding part of the lake’s shore, and they needed to be careful to avoid the edges of the water.

They had almost reached the point from which Aziraphale was going to navigate from when Agnes screamed and slipped on hidden ice. Aziraphale was thrown into a snowbank and the horse went down with a sickening crack, leg bending at an impossible angle.

Head spinning, Aziraphale dragged himself out of the drift and crawled over to the horse, trying to soothe her and get a look at her leg, though it was almost impossible to see in the low light and the snow. “Dagon!” he called again. “Beezle! Crawley! Anyone!” Cold, wet, and frightened, Aziraphale dropped his head into his gloved hands and began to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawley to the rescue.

Aziraphale’s extremities were starting to go numb, but he was afraid that leaving Agnes behind would spell her death, and besides he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to find his way back to the house in the gloom. It was full dark by this point, with snow still falling. Aziraphale had never really spent much time contemplating his own mortality, but he didn’t want to freeze to death like this.

Suddenly, there came a crashing through the trees, and Aziraphale’s head shot up, afraid of what he’d see. A wild animal, perhaps? He glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, and grabbed a stout branch from the ground. He resisted the urge to call out.

A gigantic cloaked figure burst from the trees, two glowing lights over each shoulder, and Aziraphale let out a relieved breath, though a part of him was surprised that the sight of his monstrous host could bring a sense of safety. Crawley knelt to the ground beside Agnes and threw back his hood, and Aziraphale gasped.

Crawley looked like some kind of dragon-man from a storybook, covered in dark scales and with a large, elongated muzzle with visible fangs. Horns protruded from the rear of his skull, and when he glanced up at Aziraphale’s gasp, he could see that his eyes were a luminous golden yellow, with slitted pupils. Crawley’s mouth shifted in an expression Aziraphale couldn’t read, and reached a clawed hand out to hover it over Agnes’s broken leg. “What happened here?” he asked, voice low but surprisingly not accusatory. “You ssshouldn’t be away from the manor when it’sss dark and the weather isss like thisss.”

“I know, I forgot the compass inside,” Aziraphale said, embarrassment setting in now that he was, presumably, safe. “Agnes slipped on a patch of ice while I was trying to reorient myself to get back to the house.”

Crawley nodded his huge head and spread the fingers of his outstretched hand. Agnes cried out, and her leg healed before Aziraphale’s eyes. “How in the world…?”

“There are sssome benefitsss to being like thisss,” Crawley said, and Aziraphale could clearly hear the humor in his gravelly voice. Agnes got to her feet, shying away from Crawley, who made a low hissing noise. “Animalsss don’t like me much. Let Dagon lead you back to the houssse, then get out of thossse wet clothesss and into a warm bath before you catch your death. Foolisssh man,” he added, shaking his head.

“Thank you!” Aziraphale called after his quickly departing form. He remounted Agnes, petting her mane soothingly, then turned to the light that had remained behind. “Shall we?”

“I saw you go down, and went for help,” Dagon said, starting off into the trees. “Probably should have told you before I left, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, that probably would have been nice,” Aziraphale said, but he was too tired and drained to be angry. “I should have asked for help earlier, anyway.”

Dagon bobbed, probably in agreement, and they continued the rest of the way to the house in silence. Aziraphale breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the manor came into view, and resisted the urge to hurry Agnes along, not wanting to push her on her magically healed leg. He took his time in the stable getting her warm and comfortable, then continued inside to his rooms. The bathtub was already filled with warm but not hot water, so he dumped his many layers on the ground and climbed in, shuddering happily as the warmth seeped into his limbs.

“Foolisssh man,” came Crawley’s voice from the doorway, and Aziraphale started, dipping low in the water to hide himself before realizing that Crawley had his back to him. “You could have died. Are you ssso eager to leave thisss placcce that you would take that way out?”

“It was an accident,” Aziraphale insisted, sitting back up and bring cupped hands full of water up to pour it over his head. “Thank you for coming for me.”

Crawley snorted and shook his head. In the low light, Aziraphale could see that Crawley’s scales were black, with a shock of red hair in a crest along his head. Aziraphale wondered idly if that was the color his hair had been before his transformation. “You are a guessst in my houssse, I wasssn’t going to let you die out there.” Crawley turned slightly, eyes closed, and Aziraphale could see that the scales on his jaw and neck were red as well.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. He looked down at his hands, watching his fingers go from white back to a healthy red. “And you can do magic!”

“How elssse do you think I maintain the houssse?” Crawley said, and Aziraphale thought the tilt of his lips might be a smile. “I was cursssed to look like thisss, but I gained sssome sssmall magicsss in return.”

“Not so small to me, or to Agnes,” Aziraphale said, and Crawley shrugged. “I was bored, and stupid,” he said after a moment of silence. “It won’t happen again.”

“Hassstur sssaysss you ssspend mossst of your time reading,” Crawley said, and Aziraphale welcomed the topic change. He felt foolish enough for his mistake, he didn’t need Crawley rubbing it in. “Are you done with the ssselection of booksss in your roomsss?”

“I’ve worked my way through most of them,” Aziraphale said. “It’s alright, I can reread the ones I liked best.”

Crawley was silent for a few minutes, seemingly lost in contemplation. Finally, he tipped his head up and turned completely away. “If you promissse to be careful when you passs through the greenhoussse, you may ussse my library.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said, sloshing the bathwater as he sat up in excitement. “That would be lovely.”

“Hassstur or one of the othersss can ssshow you the way in the morning,” Crawley said. He stood up from his crouch, though he still had to curl his head and shoulders to keep from hitting the top of the doorframe. “Get sssome ressst.”

“Thank you again, truly,” Aziraphale said, and Crawley waved a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, Crawley.”

“Goodnight, Azzziraphale.”

***

Aziraphale slept late the next day, late enough that the feast on the table in the dining room was decidedly set for lunch when he finally rose, dressed, and went to get something to eat. He ate quickly and then hurried to the stable to check on Agnes. The horse seemed perfectly fine, none the worse for wear from the leg or the exposure to the cold. Aziraphale rewarded her with an apple from the dining table’s fruit bowl and a couple sugar cubes and went back inside.

Hastur was waiting for him when he returned to his rooms, bouncing impatiently. “Crawley says I can show you to the library today,” he said, switching to swirl in little figure-eights in front of Aziraphale’s face. “There’s loads more books in there.”

“Yes, please, I’d love to see it,” Aziraphale said. “Let me just bring my map.” The light bounced off his shoulder then jumped aside to let him into the suite, where he gathered up the map and drawing materials, tucking them in a small satchel from the bedroom closet. “Let’s go.”

Hastur floated alongside him until they reached the door to the greenhouse, continuing forward when Aziraphale paused before it. “Crawley said you could go in, he meant it,” Hastur said. “Just don’t touch anything and you’ll be fine.” Aziraphale nodded, swallowed, and pushed open the door, unsure what he’d find on the other side.

Whatever he might have been imagining, it paled in comparison to the real thing. The roughly square room was full to the brim with green growing things: stands of myrtles and orange trees; lush jasmine and oleander shrubs; tall hydrangeas and gold dust laurels; and more roses than Aziraphale had names for. The air was redolent with earthy smells as well as the flowers’ many sweet perfumes, hot and moist by comparison to the cold winter air outside and the slightly stuffy interior of a house closed against the cold and heated with fireplaces.

Aziraphale gripped the strap of his satchel with both hands to keep from reaching out to touch anything, slowly making his way through the magnificent indoor garden. The weak winter sunlight was still enough to set the glass ceiling glowing, and elegant stained glass rose at the apex of the domed roof.

Aziraphale meandered through the plants until Hastur made a throat-clearing noise sometime later, bouncing and spinning in front of the exit. Aziraphale smiled ruefully. “Alright, we can leave,” he said, opening the exit door and stepping into the hallway. It was much like the hall on the other side of the greenhouse, with the same dove grey flock wallpaper and oak herringbone flooring as the rest of the house. It had the same air of disuse as the rest of the house, as well, but only the occasional door.

“You’re only to go in the library, nowhere else,” Hastur said, leading him along. The light stopped in front of a large double door, this one decorated with carved flowers Aziraphale couldn’t put a name to. “He won’t be pleased if you go exploring.”

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said, looking around quickly, expecting his reluctant host to appear from nowhere. When that didn’t happen, he stepped forward and pushed open the library door, unsure what to expect on the other side.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale investigates the library

The library was enormous, as big as the formal ballroom on the other side of the manor, with shelves on two levels, leaving an open atrium in the center. Slender spiral staircases in each corner led to the upper level, and the back wall was dominated by a massive fireplace, a merry fire burning in its grate behind a three-paneled rose-patterned fire screen. A few comfortable-looking chairs were scattered in front of the fire, each with a small table beside it containing a lamp for reading by. The open floor was inlaid with a pattern of flowers and vines, and when Aziraphale looked up, he realized the library was lit with natural light from a tremendous domed skylight, perfectly clear but for the green glass vines trailing around the bottom.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Yesss, I alwaysss thought so,” Crawley said, and Aziraphale turned to him, smiling brightly. He was half-concealed behind the nearest spiral staircase, and Aziraphale walked closer, a spring in his step that had been lacking since this whole thing had begun.

“I haven’t seen so many books in one place since I left university,” Aziraphale gushed. “How did you acquire them all?”

“Most of them were already in my family’s posssesssion when I inherited the houssse,” Crawley said. He had his hood up again, shadowing his face, but Aziraphale could see the faint glow of his eyes. “I only added a few volumesss here and there. I wasss never a great reader.”

He walked forward through the stacks, sticking to the shadows if he could, and Aziraphale hurried to follow him. They moved into the sitting area in front of the fire, stopping in front of a delicate lectern, where a single volume was placed. The book was closed, with no title on the spine that Aziraphale could see, but the leather of the cover was intricately tooled and painted, depicting a compass rose. Crawley rested a large clawed hand on it for a moment before turning away. “You may read any book in the library but thisss one, do you underssstand?”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said. He was immediately curious about the book, certainly, but he had no desire to anger his host, especially now that the man was speaking to him. “You’re very kind.”

Crawley hissed at him and turned away, cloak billowing around his bare, taloned feet. “Hardly. You’re ssstill my prisssoner here.”

“I thought we were calling me your guest,” Aziraphale said lightly, and Crawley spun back to look at him. Aziraphale smiled gently, for the first time feeling like he was getting a sense of his host’s moods. “I am by no means ill-treated.”

“Ssso long as you do not damage the inhabitants of the greenhoussse, that will continue to be the cassse,” Crawley said, but Aziraphale thought he sensed some humor in his words. “I sssussspect I don’t need to warn you to be kind to the booksss.”

“Indeed not,” Aziraphale said, laughing. “I will treat them as though they were my own.”

“Sssee that you do,” Crawley said, turning back to the stacks. “Good day, Azzziraphale.”

“Goodbye, Crawley,” Aziraphale said softly, watching the retreating figure disappear into a shadowed part of the stacks, an unexpected flutter in his chest. “And thank you.”

***

Aziraphale began by spreading his map on one of the small tables and adding the greenhouse, corridor, and library to it. Leaving it to dry, he then began wandering the stacks, plucking books from the shelves practically at random, making a stack in his arms of volumes that looked interesting.

The books were haphazardly organized, with clusters of like topics mixed in together, as if they had once been rigidly arranged but had gradually drifted into disorganization. It reminded him of the library at home, before he had taken it upon himself to organize it, though of course that collection was a fraction the size of this one. The books covered a wide range of topics--art and literature, science and religion, history and biography, even music and cookery--and many were in other languages, including ones Aziraphale did not know, or even recognize. He ran gentle fingers over them all, awed, and had barely walked through a quarter of the stacks before his arms were too full to take any more. He took his bounty to a larger reading table and set them down.

He sorted the pile by topic, then picked up the most interesting-looking volume, a large, ancient tome of regional fairytales. Aziraphale had studied history and literature at university, but despite many professors telling him such things were beneath a scholar, he had a great love for folklore. He took the book to one of the chairs near the fire and sat down to read.

He didn’t look up again until most of the light from the oculus was gone, the only light in the room coming from the still roaring fire. Aziraphale marked his place with one of the ribbons attached to the spine of the book and set it back on the table. Considering, he took another book from his stack, this a smaller and more recent volume of poetry, and tucked it into his satchel, along with his map of the grounds. He glanced once more over the room, then turned and left the library behind.

***

The beauty of the greenhouse was almost sinister in the dark, weird shadows thrown by the scant moonlight coming through the glass. The once-welcoming heat now felt oppressive, the smells of growing life now tinged with rot and decay. Aziraphale hurried through the space as quickly as he felt able, exquisitely careful not to touch any overhanging branches or blossoms. He did not realize until he had reached the other side that he had held his breath the whole time.

The hallway on the other side was comforting in its familiarity, with its dim electric light and softly-colored wallpaper, the danger of upsetting his volatile host behind him. Aziraphale allowed himself to stand and just breathe for a few moments and then made his way to the dining room. He was famished, after all.

The spread in the dining room seemed especially lavish, and Aziraphale helped himself happily, settling in front of the fire with his spoils.

"What did you think of the library?" Aziraphale looked up to see Hastur bouncing slightly.

"Oh, it was wonderful, thank you for suggesting it to Crawley," Aziraphale said, smiling. Hastur's light zoomed around in a small circle, and Aziraphale felt the movement seemed almost embarrassed. "May I...may I ask you a favor?"

"Eh?"

"Would you ask Crawley if he would have dinner with me tomorrow night?" Aziraphale asked, words coming out in a rush.

Hastur bounced once and stilled, unusual for him. "Why?"

"I'd like to get to know him," Aziraphale said, gaining confidence as he spoke. "I've lived in his house for weeks now, it's a shame I barely know him."

"He probably won't agree," Hastur warned, and Aziraphale nodded. "But I'll ask him."

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, digging into the slice of cake he'd taken for dessert. "Let us hope you are wrong."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spring comes to the Manor

Crawley didn’t join him for dinner, and Aziraphale tried not to be disappointed. It wasn’t as hard as it might have been, since he had the library to distract him. The poetry book lasted him barely a day, then he returned to the library, paging through the tome of folklore until darkness once again fell. This time he selected a volume of history from a far-off land to bring with him before leaving.

Another distraction was the lengthening of the days and the gradual warming of the weather. It was still wintery and cold, but over the next few days it did not snow again, and the snow on the ground began to melt, leaving muddy ground and the beginnings of grass in its place. Aziraphale began to see swifts and swallows on his rides, though the branches of most of the trees remained bare. The ice on the lake began to crack and disappear.

Even the food that appeared in the great dining room changed to match the season. Where before there had been massive haunches of meat and thick, warming stews, there were now light chicken dishes and green salads, peas and asparagus appearing in abundance. Part of Aziraphale mourned the passage of time, the clear indicators of how long he had been sequestered in Crawley’s home, the spring festival he would almost certainly miss, but the rest of him rejoiced at the end of the cold, isolating winter, wondering if the change in season would affect his host’s demeanor.

At first, it did not seem to, but as the winter turned firmly into spring, he occasionally saw a hulking cloaked figure out on the grounds, kneeling among the flowerbeds that were just beginning to put up small green shoots. Crawley did not try to hide when Aziraphale was out riding, and more than once Aziraphale felt his own attention pulled away from whatever he was reading to look out the window at the shadow moving among the low beds and taller shrubs, now starting to fill out with fresh spring greenery.

One especially nice day, Crawley was out among a swath of irises and daffodils when Aziraphale returned from his ride, not far from the stables themselves. Aziraphale settled Agnes quickly then hurried back out, shoes clicking on the stones of the garden path. “Crawley?” he called as he approached, not wanting to startle his host.

Crawley’s head shot up, dislodging his hood for a moment before he resettled it with a massive, clawed hand, shading his eyes but not completely hiding them or the end of his snout. He made a noise that didn’t quite sound like words then looked back down, raking his claws delicately through the dirt.

“You tend the gardens yourself?” Aziraphale asked, hoping his demeanor was welcoming and would encourage Crawley to talk. He’d never been much good at making friends, and while it hadn’t mattered to him when he was growing up or at university, he regretted it now.

Crawley huffed, but nodded. “Yesss, and it’sss bessst done by hand, at leassst when I can,” he said, flexing his taloned fingers. “I usssed to before...all thisss,” he added, and Aziraphale assumed he was referring to his transformation, whatever had caused it.

“They’re beautiful already,” Aziraphale said, turning to look out over the gardens. Without the snow covering everything, he could now see winding paths and bordering shrubs, spring flowers blooming here and there. He couldn’t see a rhyme or reason to it, but the wildness of it was beautiful in its own way.

“Thank you,” Crawley said softly, and Aziraphale turned back to him, smiling. “Plantsss have been a passsion of mine sssince I was very young. Have you been enjoying the library?”

“Oh yes!” Aziraphale said, allowing the slightly awkward change of subject. “The collection is spectacular, I’ve been flitting like a butterfly between topics.”

“Good,” Crawley said, almost a grunt, removing a weed by delicately pinching it in his claws.

“Are there any particular volumes you like?” Aziraphale asked. “I’ve probably only explored less than half of what’s there.”

The mass of Crawley’s cloaked body shifted in what Aziraphale thought was a shrug. “I’m not much of a reader,” he said, dusting the dirt from his hands and standing. At his full height, he towered over Aziraphale. “But my mother was partial to the fairytales.”

“Oh, I am, too,” Aziraphale said. Crawley dipped his head in acknowledgement and turned away, starting to head to another part of the gardens. “Oh, before you go,” Aziraphale said quickly, and Crawley turned back. “I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me sometime, if you’re free.”

“Yesss, Hassstur told me,” Crawley said, tone unreadable. “Why?”

Aziraphale stopped short at that, thinking. “Well, I’ve lived in your home for some months now,” he said slowly, thinking it through. “And you’ve been so kind.” Crawley snorted, but Aziraphale kept going. “I’d just like to get to know my host.”

“I’m the monssster keeping you imprisssoned here, what more isss there to know?”

“I won’t find out unless I ask, will I?” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crawley laughed, a low gravelly sound that nevertheless made Aziraphale smile.

“Perhapsss,” Crawley said, turning away again. “We’ll sssee.”

***

Aziraphale was flipping through the tome of fairytales the next day when he encountered an unfamiliar fable, one of a rose garden belonging to a witch that was said to contain roses with magical properties of all kinds, and a girl who tried to steal one of the blossoms to heal her dying mother. The witch caught the girl in the act, of course, and put her through a great many trials in exchange for a single petal from the plant, which would extend her mother’s life for a year and a day, and reduce her pain, but would not save her life. The witch told the girl that not even magic could defeat death, and then the witch and the garden had disappeared, never to be seen again.

It was a fanciful tale, to be sure, but something about it felt familiar. Maybe it was just that the magical garden reminded him of Crawley’s own greenhouse, which felt like something out of a storybook itself. He was slowly becoming more comfortable traversing the space to go back and forth to the library, but it still left him in awe each time.

He put the story from his mind and continued reading, once again only stopping when the light coming through the oculus was too dim to read by. He tucked his next selection, a novel that had been modern some hundred years before, into his satchel and left the library.

In the dim moonlight, the greenhouse was almost welcoming now, its warmth and its smells familiar and comforting. Aziraphale walked through carefully but slowly, enjoying the shifting perfumes as he moved from oleander to orange tree to rose bush. Something twanged in his memory as he beheld a particular shrub of cabbage roses, the red-black blossoms almost as big as his fist. They looked exactly like the description of the magic, life-giving roses in the fairytale.

He suddenly realized he was reaching for one of the blooms and stopped a hair's breadth away from touching the petals. No! Whatever he may have read, he  _ knew _ that disrupting the plants here would anger his host, and he dared not find out what would happen if he did. He clutched his reaching hand in the other, pressing it to his chest, and hurried from the garden as quickly as was safe, not releasing his fingers until he was on the other side of the wrought metal door.

He stopped by his suite to drop off the satchel, then went to the dining hall, hoping a meal would return his good sense. He entered the room and stopped in the doorway, stock still. A larger side table was placed in front of the fire, big enough for two people to eat at. One of the delicate dining chairs had been replaced with a large, thronelike seat in gold with red upholstery.

And, standing beside the chair, was Crawley.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crawley have their long-awaited dinner

“Good evening, Crawley,” Aziraphale said, and the dragon-man seemed to jump in surprise, like perhaps he had been lost in thought when Aziraphale came into the room. “I’m so glad you were able to join me.”

Crawley shrugged, and Aziraphale realized he’d finally abandoned his cloak. He wore dark clothes in a style Aziraphale was unfamiliar with, the cuffs and hems slightly tattered with age. “Well, you were so insssistent,” Crawley hissed, but somehow Aziraphale could tell he was teasing lightly.

Aziraphale smiled and stepped up to the banquet table, helping himself to a plate. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, when he looked over and realized that Crawley didn’t have any food or drink on the table.

“Just some wine,” Crawley said, and somehow Aziraphale got the sense he was embarrassed. “I don’t eat much, and it’s not a pretty sssight when I do.”

Aziraphale nodded and continued to work his way down the table, filling his plate with pasta and vegetables and chicken in a lovely-looking cream sauce. He poured two glasses of white wine and then brought it all over to the fire, setting the plate and glasses down on the table and sitting down, waiting until Crawley had sat down as well. “To building friendships,” Aziraphale said, holding up his glass for a toast. Crawley shook his head but lifted his glass to clink them together, and they each took a sip. Aziraphale set down his glass, and dug into his food.

“Your manor is a very good cook,” Aziraphale said, after eating in silence for a few minutes, and Crawley made a sound that was probably a chuckle.

“At least someone appreciatesss its hard work now,” Crawley said, lifting the delicate wine glass in his clawed hand and taking a sip. “The others don’t eat at all.”

“Then why have the banquet table?” Aziraphale asked.

“The house wants to be welcoming, I guesss,” Crawley said. “In case--” He stopped, and Aziraphale realized they were skirting close to whatever had cursed the house, or what might break it, and he didn’t want Crawley to withdraw over it.

“Well, I’m certainly enjoying it,” he said quickly, and Crawley dipped his head, acknowledging the topic change. “The whole house is lovely.”

“It’s been in my family for generationsss,” Crawley said, tone somewhat dismissive. “Like the library. But I remodeled it to add the greenhouse.”

“Well, it’s beautiful,” Aziraphale insisted. “I had no idea it was even here until...well.”

“Part of the curssse,” Crawley said. He took a sip of his wine, a complicated maneuver because of the length of his snout and the small size of the glass. “We’re hidden from maps and the like, and no one remembersss that we were once here.” He cradled the delicate glass in his clawed hand, gaze on the fire. “Makes it harder for someone to break the curse.”

“We don’t have to talk about this, if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale said quickly.

Crawley shook his head. “I haven’t talked about any of this in ssso long,” he said. “The others already know, of course, and you’re our first guest.” He set down the glass, like he was afraid it might break. “But it’s nice to have someone here.”

Aziraphale smiled and ducked his head, focusing on his food. He ate in silence for a while, until he felt Crawley’s eyes on him again. “It’s better here than at home, anyway,” he said quietly, as if he were afraid his siblings might somehow hear.

“Even though you’re my prisssoner?” Crawley asked, but Aziraphale could hear the laughter in his voice.

“I have never felt as imprisoned here as I felt every day living with my family,” Aziraphale said, heated. “The last time I felt this free was when I went away for university, and even then I knew I would have to go home eventually.”

“You don’t have to ssstay here, you know,” Crawley said quietly, and Aziraphale looked up quickly. “You can leave whenever you like. And you don’t have to go back to your family, if you don’t want to. You could travel to the other side of the forest. See the world, if you wanted to.”

Aziraphale froze, fork halfway to his mouth. How was he supposed to respond to that? He knew he was probably expected to jump at the chance to leave...but he wanted to stay here. With Crawley. “I don’t know,” he hedged, instead of answering. “It’s not like I have a way to make my living even if I did strike out on my own.”

Crawley shook his massive head. “I’m sure you could do anything you set your mind to,” he said, and Aziraphale felt himself blush. “And didn’t you sssay you went to university?”

“Yes, but that was fanciful nonsense,” Aziraphale said, knowing he was repeating his family’s taunts but unable to stop himself. “My family are merchants, have been for generations. My brother Gabriel runs the business, my sisters Michael and Uriel were expected to marry well to expand the family fortunes. The youngest, Sandalphon, became a soldier to try to make a name for himself.” Aziraphale sighed, staring at his hands where they were crossed on the table. “My brother Raphael ran away when we were young, didn’t like Gabriel bossing him around. I was allowed to go to university because Gabriel was afraid I might do the same thing, but it was always clear that I was expected to come home after and join the family business. Not that he values my input or listens to my advice,” he added, the ghosts of old arguments dancing in his memory.

“We only have so much control over our circumstancesss,” Crawley said. He pushed his chair back and stood, something restless in his posture. “Meet me in the library tomorrow after breakfast, I want to show you something.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said, but Crawley was already stalking away across the dining room. “Goodnight!” he called, but his volatile host didn’t answer. He frowned to himself, but focused on finishing his dinner. He’d gotten some answers about Crawley and the house, but he felt like he’d been left with even more questions than before.

**Author's Note:**

> fairy tales are weird, don't @ me
> 
> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/189180155614/the-dragon-of-avernus-manor-chapter-1)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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